"You say he is a robot?"
"A robot, undoubtedly," said #2, "but something more than that. As if the robotic part of him is no more than a surface indication of another factor that is much greater."
"That is what you think," said #1. "He is clever, that is all. A very clever robot."
"We should have told you sooner," said #2, "but we tell you now. We are very glad to meet you. No other humans come. We understand the Trees will not let them through. How did you manage to get through the Trees?"
"It was no sweat," said Cushing. "We just asked them and they let us through."
"Then you must be very special persons.
"Not at all," said Meg. "We simply seek the Place of Going to the Stars."
"The going to the what? Did we hear you rightly?"
"The stars," said Meg. "The Place of Going to the Stars."
"But this is not," said #1, "a Place of Going to the Stars. In all the time we ye been here, there has been no mention of
going to the stars. We know, of course, that one time men went into space, but whether to the stars—"
"You are sure," asked Cushing, "that this is not the Place of Going to the Stars?"
"We have heard no mention of it," said #2. "There is no evidence it was ever used as such. We have the impression that this is the last place of refuge for those elite intellectuals who may have foreseen the Time of Trouble and sought to save themselves. But if this is so, there is no record of it. We do not know; we simply have surmised. The last stronghold of reason on this planet. Although, if that is true, the refuge failed, for there is no indication there have been any humans here for many centuries."
Cushing said, "Not the Place of Going to the Stars?"
"I fear not," said #1.
Rollo said to Cushing, "I never guaranteed it. I simply told you what I heard."
"You said a while ago," said Meg, "that we are the first people ever to come here, implying that you are glad we have. But if you had wanted to meet and talk with people, it would have been quite simple. All you had to do was go and find them. Unless, of course, the Trees would not let you out."
"We did go and seek out people many years ago," said #2. "The Trees are no barrier to us. We can elevate ourselves and sail over them quite easily. But the people would have none of us—they were frightened of us. They ran howling from us or, in desperation, launched attacks upon us."
"And now that we are here," said Cushing, "now that humans have come to you rather than you going to the humans, what can we do for you?"
"You can tell us," said #1, "if there is any basis for the hope and faith expressed so blindly by the A and R that your race will rise to greatness once again."
"Greatness," said Cushing. "I don't know. How do you measure greatness? What is the greatness? Perhaps you can tell me. You say you have studied other planets where technology has failed."
"They all have been the same as this," said #2. "This planet is a classic example of a classic situation. The technological civilization fails and those intelligences that have brought it about go down to nothingness and never rise again.
"Then why does the rule not apply here? What are you worrying about?"
"It's the A and B," said #1. "He insists upon his faith
"Has it occurred to you that A and R may be pulling your leg?"
"Pulling our—?"
"Misleading you. Covering up. Perhaps laughing at you.
"It hasn't occurred to us," said #2. "The A and R is very much a gentleman. He'd not do such a thing. You must realize that we have spent millennia collecting our data. This is the first time that data has ever been in question, the only time there has been any doubt at all. All the other studies checked out in every detail. Here you can see our great concern.
"I suppose I can," said Cushing. "Let me ask you this—have you ever gone further than your data, your immediate data? You say you are convinced that when technology fails, the race is done, that there is no coming back. But what happens next? What happens after that? If, on this planet, man sinks into insignificance, what takes his place? What comes after man? What supersedes man?"
"This," said #1, in a stricken tone, "we have never thought about. No one has ever raised the question. We have not raised the question. It had not occurred to us."
The two of them rested for a time, no longer talking, but jiggling back and forth, as if in agitation. Finally #2 said,
"We'll have to think about it. We must study your suggestion." With that, they started rolling up the slope, their eyes
skittering all about their surfaces as they rolled, gathering speed as they went up the slope, so that it did not take long before they were out of sight.
Before nightfall, Cushing and the others reached the approach to the City, a huge stone-paved esplanade that fronted on the massive group of gray-stone buildings. They halted to make the evening camp, with an unspoken reluctance to advance into the City itself, preferring to remain on its edge for a time, perhaps to study it from a distance or to become more accustomed to its actuality.
A dozen stone steps went up to the broad expanse of the esplanade, which stretched for a mile or more before the buildings rose into the air. The broad expanse of stone paving was broken by masonry-enclosed flowerbeds that now contained more weeds than flowers, by fountains that now were nonfunctional, by formal pools that now held drifted dust instead of water, by stone benches where one might sit to rest. In one of the nearby flowerbeds a few straggly rosebushes still survived, bearing faded blossoms, with bedraggled rose petals blown by the wind across the stones.
The City, to all appearances, was deserted. There had been, since the evening before, no sign of the tubby gossipers. The Team was not in evidence. There was nothing but a half dozen twittering, discontented birds that flew about from one patch of desiccated shrubs to another desiccated patch.
Above the City stretched the lonely sky, and from where they stood they could see far out into the misty blueness of the plains.
Cushing gathered wood from some of the dead or dying shrubs and built a fire on one of the paving stones. Meg got out the frying pan and sliced steaks off a haunch of venison. Andy, free of his load, clopped up and down the esplanade, like a soldier doing sentry beat, his hoofs making a dull, plopping sound. Ezra sat down beside the stone flower bed that contained the few straggly roses, assuming a listening attitude. Elayne, this time, did not squat down beside him, but walked out several hundred yards across the esplanade and stood there rigidly, facing the City.
"Where is Rollo?" asked Meg. "I haven't seen him all the afternoon."
"Probably out scouting," said Cushing.
"What would he be scouting for? There's nothing to scout."
"He's got a roving foot," said Cushing. "He's scouted every mile since he joined up with us. It's probably just a habit. Don't worry about him. He'll show up.
She put the steaks into the pan. "Laddie boy, this isn't the place we were looking for, is it? It is something else. You have any idea what it is?"
"No idea," said Cushing, shortly.
"And all this time you have had the heart of you so set on finding the Place of Going to the Stars. It's a crying shame, it is. Where did we go wrong?"
"Maybe," said Cushing, "there is no such place as Going to the Stars. It may be just a story. There are so many stories."
"I can't think that," said Meg. "Somehow, laddie buck, I just can't think it. There has to be such a place."